Shattered Moon
by Denmark Self
Summary: When humble bartender Xak Theril sets out in search of his long-lost brother, he finds himself thrown into a secret world where technology has advanced beyond even the dwarves. What awaits him are foes new and familiar, a perilous rebellion, taboo romance, and a secret so shocking it will shake the very foundations of Nirn's history.
1. Chapter 1

[_NOTE: This is NOT going to be your average Elder Scrolls fanfic revolving around characters you know. This story makes some extreme challenges to the traditional medieval feel of an ES game. I've learned from modding that some people can be strongly offended when you try to alter or introduce new elements to the Elder Scrolls lore, but the point here is to have fun. If you find the concept of this story offensive, please keep in mind I'm not trying to shove this as the next entry in the series, I'm just offering my take on the wonderfully rich universe Morrowind and Skyrim take place in._  
_I originally wanted to turn this concept into a Skyrim mod, but the resources required for the sheer amount of custom content are way beyond me. So for now, here's the damn story._

_By the way, XAK is pronounced like ZACK._]

**CHAPTER 1**

**28th of Midyear, 4E 211**_Ten years after the events of Skyrim._

Closing time. In any other business, it's a turn of a key and a sigh of relief. When you run a bar in Tamriel, it's more of an abstract theory.

Take a shady tavern in the middle of Glenpoint, for example. The kind of place that can call itself "The Stunted Scamp" and get away with it. A one-story wooden shack squeezed between a blacksmith's shop and an abandoned bookstore, so the only way you wind up there is if you've been a regular for years or you got kicked out of all the other bars.

Master of this domain is a lanky young bartender, raven-like in his perch behind the counter, following each and every patron with hollow, dark eyes. It's half an hour past closing time, and anybody with a hint of sobriety has left. Those that stay could be a problem, and on this particular Sundas night, two orcs and an bosmer prostitute occupied a single table closest to him. Many would rather see dremora in their business.

The orcs were on their fourth bottle of Firebrand Wine, not a drop of which they shared with the girl. For the last hour she sat there next to the two green brutes with an impatient scowl on her face. The bartender had to pity her. At best, she had an even worse fate in store from the orcs tonight. A girl with wheat-blonde hair and a thimble-point nose like that should be sleeping with nobles.

"So then the... thish old fart is grabbin' at m' leg, tellin' me he ain't eaten for three daysh," The taller orc with a twisted nose went on with his story. "So I figger I'll give 'im a taste o' my boot". The pair broke out in rampant laughter. "Had the fetcher's teeth shtuck in my sole all night!"

"You know what they say 'bout beggars." The shorter orc, missing one fang and part of an ear, started.

"They can't be choosers!" They cheered in chorus, slamming the table so hard it sent a rumbling through the tavern.

That was the last straw for the wood elf. With a cat's grace, she rose from her seat and turned tail to the drunken louts. She managed two steps toward the door, then froze stone cold. A monstrous set of olive-green fingers held her arm stiff. "Hey, hey, ya wouldn't be lookin' to ditch us now, would ya?" The broken-fang orc growled.

"It's too late now. If I don't get back to my mistress, I'll be in trouble!" She twisted and pulled to free herself of the hand's snare, like a mouse trying to escape the hawk's talon. "And you haven't even paid me yet! Let... me... go!"

"Paid ya? You ain't earned it yet!" The bent-nosed orc taunted. "But hey, if you're that eager, we can put you to work right 'ere!"

With a shriek, the girl was lifted off her feet and slammed down on the table, spilling wine in every direction. The orcs pinned her by the shoulders as they tore at her white dress like ravenous wolves. Bent-nose managed to rip her top right off and grabbed her breasts with both hands the instant they came to light. The girl took advantage of the distraction, reeling her arm back and slapping Bent-nose across the face as hard as she could. The blow brushed against the brute's bony cheek like a light breeze, but the insult went deeper.

"Don't they teach ya girls how to behave in these parts?" Bent-nose wrapped a hand around her throat, his other arm raised in a fist aimed at her left eye. "'Try some Orsinium manners!"

A hand reached out, grabbed Bent-nose's wrist, and twisted. The crunching snap was enough to force him to let go, but a kick to the hind leg brought him down to a kneel. Before the pain in his hand even clicked, somebody grabbed the back of his head and slammed his bad nose square into the edge of the table.

By the time Broken-fang knew what was happening, his partner was curled on the ground, spewing blood on the wine-soaked floorboards. Standing over him was the bartender, the dark pits of his wide eyes challenging him. "You stay out of this, barkeep!" The standing orc stammered, practically huffing steam out of his snout with bared teeth.

But the bartender returned no fear, only authority. "You boys have had enough. It's closing time."

"Insolent little..." Broken-fang released the elf to lunge at his newest frustration. The bartender waited for just the right moment, when he could sidestep the first swing, kick the charging orc in the knee, then throw him a kidney punch on his way down. Sure enough, Broken-fang joined his friend on the tavern floor faster than he could blink.

"Alright," The bartender towered over his delirious, whimpering patrons. "Now you've had enough." He grabbed both orcs by their hair and pulled, forcing them to crawl to the door kicking and howling until he threw both of them out into the summer night. "Next time I see you two in here, I'm calling your tab."

The orcs winced and groaned as they got back on their feet. Bent-nose clutched his bleeding snout and managed to yell in a nasal voice "The Vanisher take you next, barkeep! You hear me?" Without waiting for a retort, the pair made their escape into the dark streets. Their echo broke through the air "The Vanisher's gonna get you next!"

The bartender could only roll his eyes before turning back into his tavern. There, the Bosmer girl did all she could to assemble the rags that had become of her evening gown, still coughing through red marks on her throat. He had to sigh at the sight. It was like watching a bird build a nest out of feathers.

Wordlessly, he grabbed a large bar towel out from behind the counter and shoved it into the girl's arms. "Here," he said with a rasp, doing all he could to avoid laying eyes on her exposed skin. That just felt unfair. "That should get you home with less attention."

The girl raised her eyes to the bartender for the first time, bright hazel and wide in surprise. "I... They..."

"Don't think about it," he commanded. "Just get out of here before more trouble finds you." He unfolded the towel and draped it over her shoulders, immediately dressing her with the charm of a common beggar. The girl nodded obediently, walking to the open door as the bartender resumed his duties.

"Xak..." The girl's weak voice called out to the bartender one last time. "... Thank you." And just like that, she turned and left.

Xak Theril stood within the warm golden glow of the Stunted Scamp's doorway, watching the elf stride, cautious and shaken, until the night took her in its veil. Truth be told, he didn't save her out of desire or chivalry.

It was just closing time.

So back to work he went, locking doors, killing lamps and scrubbing blood off the floor. It wasn't until he got to lifting chairs that Xak felt a familiar sensation creep along his spine. It was the touch of eyes upon him. He paused, only to measure the silence of the room, then cautiously returned to setting the chairs.

"We're closed now." He warned his hidden guest, but the shadow remained seated in the corner over his shoulder. "Look buddy, I won't tell you to go home, but you can't..." Xak turned to see his last patron rise and step into the light of the only living lamp in the tavern. It revealed the aging square face of a traveler, etched with red hair from his scalp to his iron-like chin, dressed with the smile of an old friend. "... stay here."

* * *

The tavern clock struck one in the morning, but Xak and the traveler remained, huddled at the bar with a lantern, four empty beers and two lit cigars between them. The air was rich with musty smoke and old stories as they kept the night alive.

"... So the next day Arvie shows up at the castle dungeon asking to see the guy who robbed him," The old man went on. "and the guard asks 'Why? We already got back the stuff he stole from you.' and Arvie tells him 'Forget that! This guy snuck in to my house without waking up my wife. I've been trying to figure that out for twenty years!'" His voice bounced with laughter. Xak gave a humble chuckle.

"Sounds like a guy I had in here from Daggerfall," began Xak. "His wife was having an affair for three years, and all of a sudden she winds up pregnant. The husband finds his wife's lover, knocks on his door, and when the bastard opens, he just congratulates him on being a braver man than he."

"We're a dying breed, men like us. Clever enough to keep a woman out of our lives. Course, that's what makes a breed die in the first place."

Xak leaned back, counting the wrinkles his companion had grown since last time. "What are you doing here, Uncle Brynjolf?" He asked blankly.

"What else?" replied Brynjolf. "Visiting my favorite nephew!"

"Don't guarshit me. You didn't come all the way from Riften just for stories and beer." Xak stamped out the last of his smoldered cigar. "Hell, you didn't even make my sixteenth birthday. So what really brings a Thieves Guild ringleader from Skyrim to a poor little tavern in Glenpoint?"

"Business before pleasure as usual, I see." He regained his composure, the warmth of his smile fading to solidarity. "Truth be told, I do have a proposition I wanted to run by you."

"I don't work for you anymore, Brynjolf. That guild stuff is none of my business." The bartender shrugged off, taking a stand to resume his closing duties.

"What about your unfinished business. What about Rhone?" The name made Xak halt mid-step. "By Nocturnal, Xak, look at yourself. I thought I'd find you scouring the edges of Nirn, but here you are hunkered down in High Rock beating up drunken orcs. What happened to the Nord half of you to give up on your brother that easy?"

Hesitantly, he turned to face his uncle, fist clenched. Whatever vengeful thoughts boiled in his mind cooled as he crept back to his seat. "What have you got?"

"Besides your attention, I hope, some news. The Vanisher's still going strong. People are disappearing all over Tamriel now. Some of them right under their mother's noses." Brynjolf's voice grew hushed, the lamp's fire bouncing in his eyes as he spoke. "Well, the Vanisher finally stepped on the wrong toes. The youngest son of the Aldmeri Dominion's ruling family was just taken, and they've thrown up a reward that could buy all the skooma in Elsweyr. Now every sod who can hold a sword wants to gut the Vanisher, but we both know there's only one fetcher out there who stands a chance at finding it."

"The Dragonborn?" Xak guessed, half-jokingly.

"That reward finally got him off his high horse. Word is he's got a plan to lure the Vanisher out of its hole, and he's putting together a team of mercs to pull it off here in High Rock."

"If he thinks he can tackle the Vanisher the way he did those dragons, he'll get nowhere. You know how the Vanisher works. Those bright blue lights coming from the sky, those... ungodly roars louder than any beast on Nirn. That's all people know when it hits. Then somebody goes missing, no hint of where or why. How do you stop something like that?"

"By catching it in the act. Think about it, Xak, The Vanisher is a thief like you and me. Doesn't matter how good we are, once we're spotted on a job, it's all over. If there is any hope of finding Rhone again, it's being there when the Vanisher gets caught on the job."

"And why exactly would I be there for this extraordinary event?"

"Because the Dragonborn wants you as his scout." In one motion, Brynjolf withdrew a scrap of parchment and tossed it onto the counter. Xak's eyes nearly jumped out of his skull reading a note from the hero of Skyrim himself.

"How the hell did you..."

"Didn't you know, Xak? He's one of us."

Xaks' jaw hung in disbelief before breaking into a chuckle of admiration."You sly bastard, I don't even want to know how you pulled that off."

"So what do you say?"

With a long sigh and a longer sip of beer, he read and re-read the note before him."I don't work for you anymore, Uncle Brynjolf."

"Did I ever tell you I got a gift, Xak? I can see the future." Brynjolf said with two taps to his temple and a glint of crazy in his eyes. "Right now I see two things that could happen. You take that slip, you meet a legend, you journey with him to some gods-forsaken land and fight some monstrosity the likes this world has never seen. Or you could sit right there, behind this bar, day after day after day, getting older, fatter, letting this opportunity fade into some distant memory. But one thing that'll never fade is the question: What if I said yes? There's no question more simple, or more cruel, that you could have sitting in your head for the rest of your life."

"But hey, it's your call. This is a pretty nice tavern to leave behind too." Finishing off the last drop of booze, he called it a night, slinging his travel jacket over his shoulder as he stood. "Oh, and since I'm sure you figured this out too, no, I didn't come all the way from Riften just to hand you that piece of paper either. Figured, since I was in the neighborhood..."

Xak was wordless, his gaze racing across every letter on the page. He didn't pay the slightest attention to his uncle as he steadily made his exit. Brynjolf halted at the doorway, peeking back at his nephew seemingly abandoning reality.

"I miss him too, Xak."

By the time the bartender looked up, Brynjolf was nowhere. The tavern never felt so empty. It was just him and the Dragonborn's note, and he couldn't be sitting with a more challenging foe.

"I hate it when he does this." He lamented before blowing out the lamp, a good two hours after closing time.

* * *

He hated it even more three weeks later, huddled next to a dying fire with five other mercenaries in the woodlands of Wayrest. The starry sky above brought welcome relief from three straight nights of rain, which still tainted most of the wood within reach. The troupe's spellcaster, Onorith, had been pummeling logs with fire magic all night, but the damp wood proved more resilient than he.

"I think I've..." Onorith paused for a gaping yawn. "... hod jost ubout enough of this for one night."

"Orders are to stay awake 'till morn." Their Imperial fighter Jaulius Festus reminded him sternly. "The boss needs us ready if the Vanisher shows."

"You call this bein' ready?" Chimed the Bosmer archer Galynn. "Ready is havin' your spears raised and arrows prepped to stick into whatever's comin' to get'cha. You know what six arseheads sittin' on stumps is called? Bein' bait."

"If the Dragonborn just meant to use us as bait, he could have grabbed six drunkards from Skyrim, instead of recruiting professionals from every province in Tamriel." shot Onorith.

"Brilliant observation!" Galynn raised to an eager crouch on his tree stump. "Hey, you fellow! Xak, was it? What bar did they find you in again? The Stinkin' Scamp?"

Xak huffed at the wood elf. He had been so buried in his own concerns that he had seldom let a word out to any of his companions the last four days. Just the mention of his bar reminded him how he left the Stunted Scamp to Brynjolf and how, in retrospect, letting Brynjolf run a bar was like letting a mouse run a dairy and tried to calculate how long it would take the old Nord to drink through his entire stock (eight days, eleven hours and twenty-one minutes by his count).

"Very poetic response, good sir!" Galynn resumed his rant. "Look at us. We're good, damn good at what we do. But we don't make many friends with what we do, that's why we're good at doin' what we do!"

"Making sense must not be what you do." grunted Jaulius.

"Say you don't come back from a job. Well, who's gonna miss you? A missus? A tot? A nextdoor neighbor?" Galynn was a perceptive one, Xak admitted. Of all six men brought on this mission, not one of them wore a wedding band. "We're the outsiders. We could up and disappear and not a soul will come lookin', because all those missus and tots and neighbors say we're gonna get ourselves killed someday. And if the Dragonborn wants to throw us to the wolves, he'll be provin' them all right."

"You're confusing sociological coincidence with blind paranoia." stood Onorith, abandoning the fire to vent his rising agitation with Galynn. "We were hand-picked by the hero of Skyrim himself to hunt down the greatest threat to Tamriel since the return of the dragons. You're insisting that he intends to sacrifice us, and the only evidence you can provide is that we are all unmarried?"

Said Jaulius "Onorith's right, you're jumping at shadows. If you don't trust the Dragonborn, you should not have signed on with him in the first place. For now, we need to work together."

This only excited Galynn more. "Together! There's another point. If we're all in this together to defeat the Vanisher in glorious battle..." His voice hushed, tracing his finger up the trail, bouncing off each stone to point high at the hill where a lone figure sat half an acre away. "Then what the hell is he doing all the way over there?" To his satisfaction, the rest of the group grew quiet, their gaze fixed on the distant shadow of the man who brought them to the middle of nowhere.

Just then, Xak broke the silence. "Why don't you ask him?"

The group of five shot surprised looks to him, shocked both by the suggestion and the fact that the sullen scout said anything at all.

"He's sitting right there. If you're so curious, go up there and ask him."

Onorith laughed nerviously. "You... don't just go up to the Dragonborn of all people and say..."

"People. Exactly. He's a person, not the next incarnation of Talos." Xak suddenly realized he was merely repeating what he had tried to convince himself for the entire journey. For all the legends, the bard songs and tavern tales that surrounded the Dragonborn, in the end he was still a man. A man who owed him an explanation. "Alright. I'll ask him myself." So he hopped from his log and crossed through the circle of speechless adventurers in a determined march down the path, bringing his quarterstaff with him.

The silhouette of the lone armored hero, perched on a boulder like a monk in meditation, grew clearer as Xak approached. Two curled horns of dragon-bone rose from a helmet that obscured most of his face, giving him the air of a Daedra. But Xak refused to be intimidated at this point. "Hey, Dragonborn! Mister... Whatever your real name is!" Xak called as he climbed up the boulder. The Dragonborn hardly budged as he joined him at the peak. "I need a word with you."

The Dragonborn kept his head tilted back, eyes set like iron on one spot of the night sky. "You are... Mr. Theril, right?" He spoke in a hushed rasp, and as his words left, Xak could feel the air make way for them and the trees seemingly bend to listen. Their leader had seldom spoken since the expedition began, and on this still night the reason why became clearer.

"Xak Theril." He answered, taking a seat next to his boss. "My uncle Brynjolf said he knew you personally."

"Ah, Brynjolf." Xak could swear he saw the sullen hero crack a smile. "Your uncle is a very... interesting man. He has told me much about you."

"And that puts me at a disadvantage. I have no idea who you are, what your plan is, or what I have to do with any of it, save that you happen to know my uncle." Xak sighed, trying to keep his frustration under control. "And I've followed you in spite of all that. But it's been four days of wallowing in the dark. It's time you tell me what you know."

"I know you are more than you seem, Theril." The Dragonborn relaxed his voice, allowing the tremors of each word to shake the woods around them. "I know you weren't always a bartender. I also know you have been more than a thief."

Xak's eyes drifted down to his feet with a heavy sigh. "Those years are behind me. I've done things I'm not proud of, but..."

"Years are never behind you. We all carry our regrets, past and present. Where a man walks, he brings his entire life with him." At last the Dragonborn turned to face Xak directly, his gaze glowing with immense power. "That is what truly brought you here. The others seek profit, but you are after something else. Something precious that was lost long ago."

Xak suddenly felt very uncomfortable next to this man. There's no way even Brynjolf would have let this much slip. "This isn't about me. You hired six people to help you find the Vanisher. Now do you really know how to find it, or did you just bring us out here for a camping trip?"

"Tell me, Xak. Have you seen the face of Masser lately?" The Dragonborn resumed his stare at the sky above. It took a while for Xak to realize he was supposed to do the same. Looking up, he saw the moons Masser and Secunda hanging directly above like the noontime sun. Masser formed a crimson sliver as its new moon approached, leaving most of the orb obscured in blackness. As his eyes adjusted to the void, Xak could faintly make out what had captured the Dragonborn's rapt attention. Lights, as clear as the stars around them, flowed along the dark moon like a web, flickering with life. Some seemed to flow like rivers, others blinked in every color Xak could recognize, others in tones he had never seen before. It was a sight as beautiful as it was disturbing, like nightshade over a fresh grave.

"The Khajiit hold Masser as sacred. It was a Khajiit trader who first showed me the lights. Many of them believe the moon is tainted, and that those born under the tainted moon are cursed. Elsweyr has outright banned copulation for fear of giving rise to cursed children."

"That's unfortunate, but I don't plan on making any conquests in Elsweyr." Xak chided.

"They've shone for many years, but until a year ago they could not be seen with human eyes." The Dragonborn turned back to Xak, the tone in his voice so heavy that the boulder they sat upon cracked with his words. "Those lights are growing, consuming Masser by the day. And the brighter the lights get, the more frequent the Vanisher strikes."

"So you think there's a connection between the moon and when the Vanisher appears?"

"Not just when, but where! It has been said that none can predict who the Vanisher will take next, but every single place the Vanisher has struck..." The Dragonborn withdrew his long sword and pressed its pommel into the rock between the two men. With a whisper, the blade shot directly upright, standing in perfect balance as rigid as ice. The Dragonborn traced a finger along the sword, urging Xak to follow the blade like an arrow as it pointed directly to the heavens – and Masser. "... has been directly underneath the largest moon!"

Xak's eyes practically shot out of his skull as he followed the blade's point to the moon, back down, and up to the sky again. There was no question. Masser was in the dead center of the sky from where they had camped. "You're saying the Vanisher is coming here?"

"It is merely a theory. One I must say I haven't been eager to prove," The Dragonborn lamented as he sheathed his sword. "but if I am right, then yes. We have been following Masser's path, and now our paths meet."

"How much time do we have?"

"Not much. Be sure the men are ready, but keep them quiet." He resumed his stance of meditation. "I am hoping the Vanisher will come for me first. A predator cannot resist lone prey."

So it was the other way around; The Dragonborn himself was bait! Xak jumped to his feet. "I'll go warn the others!"

"Wait, Xak!" The Dragonborn called out, withdrawing a slim jade ring from his belt. "Take this, in case we become separated." He flipped it like a coin to Xak, who caught it effortlessly. The ring seemed plain, lacking any sort of gem or inscribed runes. Then again, the Dragonborn is a renowned craftsman and enchanter who could easily imbue power into a piece of clay, Xak thought as he hastily slipped his finger through the band.

"Why give it to me?"

"In a way you remind me of myself years ago. Wandering, alone, and asking too many questions. Now go!"

Obediently, Xak hurried back down the path towards the others. His head pounded with anticipation, shoving his skeptical nature aside. This could be it! After eight years, his search could finally be over! Caution reminded him not to expect the reunion he had hoped for, but at least the false leads, the gnawing questions, and the bottomless guilt could all be coming to an end, regardless of where the outcome led.

He could never have expected it to lead to this.

A flash of incredible blue light shocked his vision. He was on the ground. Ears were ringing. What he couldn't hear, he could feel. A mighty resonance rumbled through his gut like the loudest clap of thunder. He rolled onto his back as he tried to regain his senses. It wasn't until his vision cleared that the fear hit him.

Something had ripped through the sky above, tearing a hole of blinding light in its aftermath. Through this hole, the head of a great beast emerged. No, this was no beast, Xak realized, for the skin was made of solid sheets of gray steel, angled like the facets of a fine ruby. Dark glass replaced eyes, and in place of any arms or legs were triangular wings spewing blue fire in a thick cone. It appeared to be a flying construct, but this too was impossible as far as Xak knew. This entity defied the basest laws of existence, yet it hovered over their camp with winds so powerful their tents were blown to pieces.

The sides of the great entity opened like jaws, from which men clad in pearl-white armor the likes he had never seen before leaped. Blue flames erupted from their backs, slowing their fall as they descended on the panicked mercenaries. From just outside the camp, Xak watched the chaos unfold as the strange men brandished wands shaped like crystalline crossbows and surrounded his comrades. Jaulius fell quickly. Somebody shot him with a red bolt of energy before he could even grab his axe. Galynn managed to ready an arrow and let one fly at the nearest invader, only to see the arrow shatter against their flawless armor. The recipient of said arrow responded in kind, and Galynn fell to the ground like a children's doll. Onorith tried to douse his attackers in flame, all in vain as the campfire had drained all the magic out of him. The two other mercenaries were shot before they even recovered from the initial blast. Xak observed helplessly as five of the most capable warriors he ever met fell in seconds.

Then they saw him.

A trooper flew in behind Xak. Reacting with gut instinct, he gripped his staff and delivered a swing to the man's helmet. The blow connected, knocking him off balance enough for a strike at the arms to drop his weapon. Xak spun around to greet another soldier descending upon him. He somersaulted beneath the attacker's feet to deliver a powerful double-kick to his jetpack, dislodging the jet alignments and launching the soldier into a wild flight through the trees. Xak's first opponent rushed at him hand-to-hand, grabbing the quarterstaff with two mighty gauntlets. The two wrestled for the weapon, until another trooper tried to rush Xak from behind with a charged stun prod. Xak waited for just the right moment, then put all his strength into a jump, using the quarterstaff to flip clear over his enemy's head as the charging soldier accidentally drove a tazer arc into his friend's chest. A fourth trooper joined the fray, aiming a rifle squarely between Xak's eyes. Both of them paused, waiting for the other to make the first move. Just then a warped scream came out of nowhere as the out-of-control jetpack soldier flew from the branches and slammed into the rifleman so fast he vanished from Xak's sight in a blur.

Then a flash of red filled Xak's vision, and his world froze. His arms numbed and his legs gave way. The ground rose to meet him, and before he knew why he was face-down in the dirt. He put every ounce of strength he had to getting back up, but the best he could do was twitch a finger, like he was trapped in a dream. A soldier kicked him onto his back, yet the touch felt as numb as a distant cloud. Then he saw the freshly-fired rifle the victor held, and knew it was over.

"Cliff Racer, this is Pantheon 3." The man called in a voice grainy and distorted, as though spoken through a sewer grate. "Six packages secured, prepare evac. Be ready for wounded."

"Roger, Pantheon. Cliff Racer inbound." Xak couldn't tell where this voice came from, but he could hear the great metal airship come to a landing just meters away. Two soldiers grabbed him by the arms and unapologetically dragged him through the dirt, towards the open airship where he could see his friends being thrown onboard, a fate they had in common.

_So_, Xak lamented. _The Vanisher did take me next_.

"**FUS RO DAH!**"

A shockwave sliced through the air above Xak, launching one of the soldiers headfirst against a tree. Into the clearing, the Dragonborn emerged, facing down each surviving trooper with a cold hard glare.

"Shit! Pantheon 4, secure the last package! All others, provide cover!" One man hastily lifted Xak onto his shoulders as the others rushed the Dragonborn. Xak could hear the inevitable. An enchanted blade cutting through the toughest armor. Soldiers crying out as their limbs were severed. Ancient shouts bending time and space to one warrior's will. It wouldn't be enough.

A multi-barrel cannon at the nose of the airship came to life. It unleashed a barrage of high-energy pulse fire at the Dragonborn, pulverizing the ground around him as he did all he could to maintain a strong-enough ward to endure the blasts. The cannon had him pinned.

With a heave, Xak's limp body was thrown beyond the doors of the airship, landing hard on cold metal grating as the remaining soldiers leaped onboard. "Cliff Racer, get us out of here!" One trooper ordered.

"What about the casualties, sir?" Another protested.

"Leave them!" the commander barked, then solemnly hit the door switch with a clenched fist. "The Archmage isn't gonna like this one."

From his sideways view, Xak could see the ground drift further away, leaving one infuriated man alone on a scorched battlefield, shouting curses at the retreating force. Then his vision shifted above the tree line and to the starry sky, with the vibrant blue glow of the portal they were about to pass through. Then the doors were shut, and there was nothing to see.


	2. Chapter 2

_[Yeah, I'm serious about this cyberpunk take on Elder Scrolls. The end of this chapter introduces one of the most enjoyable characters of the whole story. I can't wait to write more of her!]_

**CHAPTER 2**

His head pounded like the morning after Sanguine's Festival. Any sense of vision he had was a murky fog of blue and green. Optimism told him he was lying in his Glenpoint home with a bad hangover and one messed up dream. That hope lasted a good ten seconds before his eyes adjusted and he found himself strapped inside a metal capsule, stripped naked with tubes connected to every piece of his body he held dear.

The capsule had a large green viewing window, which made him empathize with being stuck in a beer bottle, but through it he could recognize the metal floor his face was thrown against about an hour ago. A worse reminder was the voices, still masked with that inhuman metallic grain. He recognized a discussion as two men walked in tandem along the other capsules, but couldn't make out a word until they arrived at his pod.

"So what's so special about this guy?" A shorter soldier pointed at his tube like he was a circus attraction. _I think I'll call you Littlepecker_, he said in his mind.

"That would be... Xak Theril. Breton, with some Nord heritage." Answered the larger soldier reading off a clipboard. _You I'll name Scribsteak_. By this point Xak was very bored. "Managed to hold his own for a while. Wounded three of our guys! Almost beat the record."

"You mean the record set by that freak with the voice?" Littlepecker snorted.

"We didn't take that one in, so he doesn't count." Scribsteak seemed to be attempting humor too soon for Littlepecker.

"Well the bean counters should take note on this one. Six men captured, six men dead. We broke even!" Littlepecker hailed in his own sarcasm. "I wanna be there when we really go after that n'wah!"

"Well, you might not have to wait much longer..." Scribsteak trailed off, his attention captured by the notes he held. "This can't be right. Says here our friend Xak is a non-combatant."

"What? After the way he fought?"

"No military history, no known guild history, no formal magic training, current occupation..." Scribsteak hesitated, looking Xak dead in the eyes. "... bartender."

Both men were silent, staring at Xak like he was a creature they'd never seen before. "Just great!" Littlepecker broke out. "I lose six friends to the Nirnwalker with the nuclear breath, now I find out we got beat up by a martini mixer! Brilliant performance today, people! Just brilliant!" He paced around the narrow interior of the airship like a crotchety old mage.

"Well he may not be ex-military now," Scribsteak said with a hint of optimism. "but he's got potential. I say put him through processing with the rest and see how he turns out."

"You know, that's not a bad idea!" Littlepecker regained some of his composure, marching right up to Xak's pod and jamming a finger in his face. "You hear that, you Nirnwalking highball swit? Tavern's closed! You're in my world now!"

Xak wrestled for control of his numb body once again. Putting every ounce of mental energy he had into it, he managed to gain back some rudimentary control of his mouth. "Fffffhhhh... yhhhhh..." was all he could put out.

"What was that?" Littlepecker undid the clasps of his helmet and threw it off. He turned out to be a dark elf with ashen skin, jet-black eyes and a thinning mohawk. Just as ugly as Xak expected. "Got something you want to say, you fetcher?"

This time he devoted every fiber of his being to saying it. "Ffffuuuuu... yuuuuu..."

Littlepecker seemed to get the picture. "That's what I like to hear! He'll fit in just fine!" and the dunmer marched off down to the next pod, out of Xak's sight at last.

Scribsteak remained. "Normally he's a really nice guy." He assured Xak as he flipped a few switches outside his capsule. The tubes began to fill with a thin black liquid. Within seconds of the stuff entering his body, Xak drifted off again.

* * *

From then on, time became an imaginary concept for Xak. Whenever he woke up from an induced sleep he found himself in a place further from Nirn than the last. From the airship, he awoke in a massive hangar filled with dozens of craft just like the one that abducted him. From the hangar, he awoke in a warehouse, dark and silent except for some workers taking inventory (of which he was an item). From the warehouse, he awoke in the strangest place of all.

The room was pure white. Light came not from any torch or chandelier, but from the ceiling itself, basking the entire globe-shaped room in a celestial glow. He was relieved to find he was no longer held in a capsule or wired with tubes, but still secured to a bed with hefty leather straps. Better news was that he finally regained control of most of his body, but his throat still struggled to form words, as though it had been weeks since he had spoken.

Glancing around the orbital room, he found at least ten other bodies in the same situation as him. Each bed had a device wired to it that beeped incessantly, and Xak soon traced the rhythm of the beeping to his own heart. Everybody was arranged in a circle, giving him no clear view of the face of each prisoner, but he had to assume at least one of his five traveling companions was among the beds here.

"Ono... Onorith." He tried to shout, but could only form a rasped whisper. "Galynn. Jaulius. Anybody."

"Xak?" A lighter voice rose from the bed to his three o'clock. "Xak, is that you?"

"Galynn! You're alive!" Xak's heart rate monitor jumped.

"Don't rule anythin' out just yet. We could all be dead and awaitin' judgment." Even with a croaking throat, Galynn couldn't resist dark humor, or so Xak hoped.

"We're alive. We have to be. Have you seen the others?"

Before Xak got an answer, the heavy clang of a door sliding open ended their conversation. Xak turned his head to spot one armored soldier and an Imperial woman wearing a long white coat enter the room. The woman surveyed each patient with routine, finding nothing wrong with eleven people being held against their will.

The soldier carried his rifle ready as he eyed each bed, which was enough to tell Xak he could still pose some kind of threat to these people. Perhaps that meant hope for an escape. "Batch 2 has some promising candidates, doctor. Nine out of eleven were chosen for processing." The soldier bragged as he followed the doctor.

"Nine?" The doctor seemed offended. "I thought they agreed on a cap of five."

"We lost some good men taking these ones in. The Magister wants to cover our losses as soon as possible."

The doctor grunted her disapproval. "With all the excuses your Magister keeps making I'm surprised he doesn't have me card the ones you _don't_ want." She had come up to Xak's bed, holding a tiny metal wand that somehow shined a light brighter than he had ever seen. At first he tried pretending to be asleep, but the doctor forced open his eyelids, shining her blinding light directly at his pupils. He winced and gave away his cover. "Some of these subjects have already regained consciousness." The doctor warned sternly. "This is why you don't keep me waiting on clearance."

"Extraordinary circumstances, extraordinary measures, doctor." The soldier approached, towering over him. At this angle, Xak could finally see clearly the kind of men who attacked him. The armor could not possibly have come from any blacksmith in Tamriel; the pauldrons were too perfectly round and the black fibers between the joints too tightly woven to have been made by human hands. Blue lights twinkled from the eyes and neck like dying stars. The only remote connection to the world Xak knew was the helm. Though made from the same otherworldly materials as the rest of the armor, the design seemed familiar. The head was curved back, raised far like the body of a squid, and tentacle-like hoses covered the mouthpiece. It reminded Xak of the old cephalopod helmets they used to make in Morrowind. The kind once favored by Telvanni.

"Who... Who are you people?"

Neither captor answered. The doctor strutted over to a table where she could prepare a syringe kit. "We'll need to move the subjects ahead of schedule to minimize psychological trauma. Notify Dr. Adrus to expect an immediate transfer." She instructed while filling three needles with more of the black toxin.

"Who... Who... Why..." Xak begged. The beeps of his monitor raced a frantic pulse.

The soldier patted him on the shoulder. "Try to relax. And welcome to Great House Telvanni." That was all Xak heard before the prick of a needle sent him to another deep slumber.

* * *

As had become habit, Xak woke up in a completely different room. This time a small square chamber filled with numerous workstations of human-sized slabs and sharp tools. It reminded him of a tanner's workshop, a comparison all the more disturbing when he realized he was the only restrained person in the room this time.

Another doctor entered the stage. This one an older dunmer with flowing silver hair and a blood-tipped needle in his hand. "Ah, wonderful! Your response to the antiserum is almost instantaneous!" the doctor rejoiced. "I am Dr. Adrus. You have been most fortunate to have been elected for processing, and my responsibility is to ensure your health and readiness for the program, and to eliminate any of those nasty diseases you might bring in from Tamriel."

"Proce...ssing?" Though he felt healthy this time, speaking was still a challenge. His head felt miles away from his body.

"All will be explained in time." The doctor's tone was distant as he reached for some tools outside of Xak's vision. Without warning, a mechanical buzz erupted underneath him and the bed he was strapped to slowly lifted to a standing position, keeping Xak's body helplessly suspended. At least now he faced the doctor eye-to-eye. "For now, we will need to run some procedures to prepare you for the environment. That lightheadedness you no doubt feel is caused by differences in the air pressure and gravity than your physiology was meant for. Rest assured, that will be resolved shortly."

This was all a different language to Xak, but whether he understood was irrelevant. The doctor was already tightening the straps, readying tools and placing a bucket underneath his feet. "Telvanni... Are you... Telvanni?" He managed to force out.

"I'm sure you have many questions, all of which will be answered in good time. For now, it's much more important we get your respiratory system up to speed. Open your mouth." Xak obeyed, and the doctor inserted a thin wooden bar between his teeth, and attached another strap to his chin, forcing him to bite down. He was effectively gagged.

Another person crossed Xak's perception. A womanly figure dressed in long cyan robes, her hair and face almost completely obscured behind a flat rubber mask. She handed the doctor a thin metal tool with a sharp blade, like a kitchen knife but far more precise. "Thank you, nurse." The doctor held the strange knife between two fingers as the nurse withdrew a black pen and painted a dotted line running down Xak's chest. He looked to the line, then the knife, and his breathing intensified.

"I want to assure you, Mr. Theril, that our medical capabilities are far and above what you may be familiar with." The doctor approached. Xak writhed and twisted, but the straps wouldn't allow it. "There are few maladies we cannot reverse. Any injuries you sustain here can vanish in a matter of hours." The knife raised. Xak did all he could to yell for help but only grunts escaped his clenched jaw. "This means you need to keep in mind that any pain you feel over these next few days is superficial. There is no harm we would inflict on you without reason..." The knife pressed against his flesh. The muscles in his neck tensed. "and any we must inflict, can be repaired."

The knife slid. This time it wasn't a serum that made Xak pass out.

* * *

First good news he had in a while was finding he wasn't under any straps when he came to. It was a bed, an actual mattress with pillows and thin white sheets, though still spartan in design. Somebody had dressed him in blue cloth pants and a plain white shirt, which he immediately threw off to inspect his chest. To his shock, the hole over his sternum had vanished. He ran his finger along the tender pink line that marked the knife's path, but it was no illusion that the wound never occurred. The fog in his head seemed to have finally cleared and he at last felt able to speak normally. If only he had someone to talk to.

Xak was completely alone. The small cubed room was empty save himself and a bed. The first glance was mesmerizing, as every wall was covered in pristine mirrors, even the floor and ceiling. It gave the sense of a room stretching beyond forever, and endless plane of identical bretons delicately lifting themselves off a bed and glancing around every corner with a mix of awe and fear. In any direction Xak could see every aspect of himself, reflected thousands of times into a distant warping horizon. Knowing his captors, he guessed that this display was not so that he could see himself, but so that whoever watched him could catch every slightest movement he made.

"This must be my cell." he lamented out loud, testing his restored voice. Nervously taking a few steps, he tried to measure where the original room ended and the reflections began. Trying to break the mirrors with his hands was a bad idea, he learned the hard way that they were placed over solid wall. There was no door, window, or any way in the pristine glass that he find. _How am I not suffocating right now_, he thought.

He had just about given up probing his chamber when a voice surrounded him. "Welcome, Mr. Theril. Today we will test the success of your respiratory implants." The voice was womanly and fair, yet disturbingly hollow, like spoken through someone without a soul. "Please step onto the treadmill to begin." Xak jumped back as a section of the center floor of the room slid open. From the square hole rose a platform holding one of the strangest contraptions he had seen yet; A long, flat band of black rubber laid in front of a set of hand rails and a heart monitor like the ones he had seen before.

"Please step onto the treadmill to begin." The voice repeated exactly as it was the first time. Assuming there was no alternative, Xak lightly stepped onto the rubber platform and clutched the handrail. Without warning, the rubber mat shifted beneath his feet. Breaking into a walk saved himself from falling over. This must have been exactly what was expected, as the rubber picked up the pace, forcing him from steady steps to a brisk walk to an all-out run within minutes. "Thank you," the voice congratulated him. "please continue running for thirty minutes. If you experience nausea, loss of vision or shortness of breath, you may exit the treadmill."

"Thirty minutes of running on a loop. Just what in Oblivion do you people want from me?" Xak pleaded to the voice, but as he expected there would be no answer. There was no human being behind this voice. It was a thing. An unfeeling entity that was born solely to torment him with its false sense of company. On second thought, maybe it was a woman after all.

Is this how the Vanisher works, Xak wondered? Does everybody who gets taken wind up sleeping in metal tubes, cut open, sown back up and then told to run for half an hour? In a way, it's brilliant. If the Vanisher had been some carnivorous monstrosity or spawn of Mehrunes Dagon, then he'd know what came next and it would come quick. In reality, every new punishment took him further from the death he expected and piled more confusion and questions without the slightest answer. This festering mystery, Xak realized, was a more diabolical torment than any Daedric god could muster. _Sheogorath must be jealous_, he managed to make himself chuckle as a sweat built up.

* * *

Thus was the pattern of each day Xak spent in this bizarre dungeon. After his exercise in the mirrored cell, a sweet-scented gas would fill the room, knocking him out in seconds. This placed him back in the orbital room strapped to a hospital bed as nurses inspected him. From here he was placed back into Dr. Adrus' care, who would either find a new excuse to cut him open or check to make sure whatever was put in before was still working. Then he would wake up in the mirrored cell, given a random task to perform by a disembodied voice, then knocked out all over again. Rinse, repeat. Not once was he offered food or water during this cycle, yet somehow he never felt thirst or starvation, as though they were feeding him through his very skin.

The mirrored cell turned out to be the most spontaneous event in Xak's rotation. The voice would assign him a new mundane activity each visit. One day he had to jump fifty times in sixty seconds. Another he had to repeat tongue twisters. All challenges that could be tackled by an argonian hatchling, now being thrown at a bosmer in his later twenties. Yet in a way Xak grew to enjoy it. Partly because nobody was sticking a knife in him in the mirrored room, but more so because it was the only time he was given any control over his body whatsoever.

Then one day, the mirrored room offered a challenge he never saw coming.

"Welcome Mr. Theril. Today we will test your social acuity and interpersonal behavior." as the Voice greeted Xak. "You will be allowed to interact with the occupant to your left. If you attempt to harm this occupant, the test will terminate immediately."

Quick as lightning, the entire western wall slid to the floor, revealing an identical room beyond. There stood, just as shocked as himself, the first familiar face he had seen in eons.

"Onorith?" Xak rushed over to the weary altmer. Clearly his companion had been having the same bad week. He traded his wizard robes for cloth pants, and what was once a glorious mane of shimmering blonde hair had been reduced to a frazzled mess. Nevertheless, he was just as happy to see Xak.

"Xak Theril! Is that really you?" Onorith clasped Xak into a hug. Even a four-day acquaintance felt like an old friend in this place. "I thought I was the only one who survived the attack!"

"I don't think they meant to kill any of us that night. Galynn was with me in one of the holding rooms, and I keep hearing references to other prisoners." Xak went straight to business, as usual.

"Yes, this makes sense. If our captors are the face of the Vanisher, then they must have some purpose to take as many live prisoners as possible." Onorith rubbed his shovel-tipped chin. "What about the others? Have you seen the Dragonborn?"

"I don't believe he was captured. Last I saw, he was still on the ground when that..._ thing_ took off."

A defeated look crossed the spellcaster. "So Galynn was right. We were nothing more than bait."

This was a point Xak was done arguing. The thought of the Dragonborn sparked a bitter taste in his mind, but they had bigger problems than betrayal."Onorith, how much do you know about the Telvanni."

"Ah, so you suspect the same as I." Onorith picked himself up, assuming the stance of a teacher about to give lecture. "Centuries ago, the Telvanni were one of the Great Houses that controlled Morrowind. Brilliant wizards, they were. The minds of House Telvanni were responsible for some of the greatest magical and technological advances since the Dwarves."

"But that time has passed." Xak injected.

"Indeed. The Telvanni were as ambitious and amoral as they were intelligent. Their staunch use of slavery earned them the ire of Argonians worldwide. When the forces of Black Marsh invaded Morrowind, they crushed every last Telvanni hold as an act of vengeance. Cruelty begets cruelty, it would seem." Onorith took a squatting seat in front of his cell's bed, with Xak following suit. "Only a handful of Telvanni wizards escaped the invasion, and the House has been powerless ever since the start of the Fourth Era, if not outright extinct."

"So how do they suddenly re-emerge two hundred years later with flying constructs and an army of metallic warriors?"

"That I can't answer, but there are possibilities. House Telvanni had a knack for illusion. Perhaps they were never truly destroyed at the start of the era. Perhaps they abandoned their holds and let the Argonians believe they had won. They could have fled Morrowind entirely to rebuild elsewhere."

"Elsewhere. That's the better question." Xak felt a headache coming on just thinking about it. "Where did they – no, where are _we_ now?"

"I haven't the slightest clue. I take it they haven't let you outside either." He took Xak's silence as a yes. "Well, if I had to guess, I'd say this place must exist in a realm of Oblivion."

"Arkay's blood, that's all I need to hear." The Breton shot up exasperated, running his hands through a tired mess of black hair. "Well I don't care if we're in Oblivion or Orsinium. We're getting out of here. Have you tried using magic to break out?"

"Yes, the instant they let me use my arms again. I can't so much as light a candle. Somehow our captors have found a way to negate magic, either within these walls or as part of those..." He hugged his arms weakly. "...experiments."

Xak marched over to the cell's bed, immediately testing the strength of the bolts holding it in place."Alright, so we'll just have to escape the old fashioned way."

"Old fashioned? You mean with brute force."

"There's some sort of grate behind these beds. That's where the sleeping fog comes from. If we can pry the bed off the wall, we might be able to fit through the vent. Give me a hand."

Onorith just stood there, watching his cellmate tug against the bed-frame with all his might."So your plan is to crawl through a grate filled with sleeping gas. Brilliant. Assuming you could even fit through the pipe and it somehow leads to safety. Alright, I'll humor you. After the pipe, what do we do next?"

"You can do whatever you want after that." grunted Xak as he managed to snap off one of the bolts. He held the twisted metal in his hand, surprised at his own strength but no less determined. "Me, there's somebody I need to find. Then we can make our way out of here."

"Xak, I don't mean to condescend your background as a purveyor of fine beverages, but have you factored in the math here? Our captors have taken hundreds, even thousands of people over the course of at least twenty years. Out of twenty years of thousands of those people being put in the same situation you are in now, not _one_ has managed to make their way home. Do you really think a bartender from Glenpoint is going to be the first?"

"Oh fine, Professor Useless! What do you recommend?"

"We lack the information to remotely theorize where this dungeon is, what its layout could be like or whether it is any safer outside this building than within. But our captors have promised us answers at the end of this 'processing' business, and they have been forthright thus far. I say we cooperate until we're given an explanation."

"Cooperate?" Xak was dumbstruck. "Onorith, how many times have they cut you open so far? What makes you think there is an end to this 'processing'. Are you really going to sit back and let them stuff you full of metal and lights like some sort of Dwarven plaything?"

"The Telvanni were known for questionable methods, no doubt, but they did yield fantastic advances for the rest of the world. A Telvanni wizard once used conditions much like ours to find a cure for Corprus. What if our captivity is for the greater good? I mean, just look at the magnificent contraptions they've built already!"

A fire was welling in Xak's chest. "You said it yourself. Twenty years, thousands of people, not one returned home. They're not about to take what they want and send us on our way."

"Neither do they intend to kill us. What would be the point of giving us implants otherwise? Haven't you noticed they've been improving us? We are stronger, healthier than we were before. We are being remade. Xak, if we endure this torment, we could become one of them!"

"I WILL NEVER BE ONE OF THEM!" Xak roared. His hands wrapped around Onorith's shoulders and pushed hard. This was no ordinary shove. Onorith was launched eight feet before hitting the mirrored ground so hard it cracked on impact. The spellcaster watched in shock and awe as his friend's rampage ensued.

The Voice jumped to action. "Injuring another occupant is in violation of this test. You will now be restrained."

To this Voice, Xak spoke directly. "DO YOU HEAR ME YOU BASTARDS! I'M NOT LIKE YOU!" He searched for an enemy, something he could utterly destroy. He ran to the nearest mirrored wall and threw everything he had at his own reflection. "I'M NOT LIKE YOU! I NEVER WILL BE! YOU'RE JUST GOING TO HAVE TO KILL ME!" He cried as he bashed his knuckles against the glass, against himself, against that sorry little fool that let himself get captured by the very thing he swore to hunt down. Gas seeped into the room behind him, creeping closer like a thousand clawing hands, yet Xak fought on. His bloody fist still pounded the wall after the world went dark.

* * *

His mind was still burning by the time he opened his eyes to the orbital room. It was darker than he had ever seen it, with the ceiling deactivated and the only light coming from a lamp attached directly to his bed. Rough bruises colored much of his right arm down to his red knuckles. Even such small injuries would not go unnoticed in this place. A nurse stood next to his bed tending to his fractured wrist. Xak drowsily watched as she undid the leather straps on his right side, then gently ran her hands over his arm. The pain evaporated as a soft golden glow erupted from her palms, soaking his skin in healing magic until the arm was spotless.

Then she made a mistake. Turning her back on her patient for another medical tool, the nurse never realized she forgot to redo the straps that restrained his arm. Xad did.

Next to his bed, the nurse's cart was littered with scalpels, scissors, knives, anything he could use to hurt somebody.

He raised a finger. Then his entire limb. Not a sound was made. He weighed his options. The next move would determine everything. This would be his only chance.

The nurse screamed when she felt it, an innocent yelp of the unprepared. She steadily shifted her gaze down to her arm and the shaking fingers that gripped it. Xak pulled, forcing the nurse to face him.

"Make it stop." There were no tears in his eyes, just a burning desperation as he begged whatever human decency that might still exist in this person to come to the surface. "Please... just... no more."

For a long time the two of them remained connected. Never did the nurse call for help or try to break away. Instead she glanced around the room, as though to be sure nobody was watching. Then she cautiously lowered her green mask and leaned down next to her patient, letting Xak see her in the light.

The nurse was a Khajiit, but not like any Xak had met before. Where most had a mighty square snout, Xak saw a gentle curve towards a heart-shaped pink nose surrounded with light ash-gray fur. Vibrant sapphire eyes viewed him through almond slits. She offered a reassuring human-like smile as she placed a hand on his chest and leaned closer to whisper.

"I'm going to get you out of here," she said against his cheek. "I promise. Just hold on for a little while longer."

Shock flooded Xak's senses. Was this another trick? A cruel attempt at misdirecting his escape plans? Yet underneath the uncertainty, he felt welling a sensation he had not known for too long: Hope. The Khajiit girl softly took Xak's hand in hers, delicately placing his arm back under the straps. "Whatever happens, keep fighting them. Don't let them change you." Was all she offered before putting her mask on and leaving the room in a hurried walk.

She forgot to tranquilize him. Xak was awake for five hours before somebody finally came in to put him out. He spent the entire time repeating the girl's words in his mind. _Don't let them change you._


	3. Chapter 3

_[The chase scene here took two months to get right. Granted a lot of that two months was spent staring blankly at these paragraphs trying to make something better come out. Ended up writing most of it while listening to the System Shock 2 soundtrack, so you might notice it's paced like Med Sci 1. Beginning to see why Phillip K. Dick always glossed over his murders and shootouts (like the initial bomb set-up in Ubik). Still, this is THE chapter I've been waiting to write for a long time. At last, Xak will get some much-needed answers, including the most important revelation of all: Just where the hell he is.]_

**CHAPTER 3**

"Good morning, Doctor." Xak counted his eleventh trip to Dr. Adrus' laboratory. The first six started with him begging for answers or mercy. Today he had something else in mind.

"Ah, good morning Xak." He caught the old elf off guard. "You seem to be in a better mood lately. Having fun with those new kinetic actuator implants, are we?"

"Actually, Doctor, I was thinking about killing you."

"Oh." said Adrus in mock surprise. "Well, I do trust you'll decide against that."

"I've already decided. I was just thinking about how I would do it."

"That is an unfortunate conclusion, but you have the right to your own fantasies." Both men knew this wasn't happening today. Xak was tied down to an operating table without so much as a finger to move and Adrus was already lining a knife up against his left leg. "Out of curiosity, how would you intend to kill me."

"It wouldn't take much. At first I thought I'd simply strangle you to death." Xak paused to grit his teeth as the scalpel split his skin open. He wasn't about to give Adrus another cry of pain. "But that would give you too much of a chance to fight back, so I thought of getting you in a headlock and snapping your neck." Xak watched the doctor peel back strips of flesh and muscle like cutting an orange. "The problem with that is it's quick and painless, so I had an idea to take a knife just like the one you're holding and carve your eyes out. Then again, that would take an awfully long time, and I may not be able to stay in the room that long." He was speaking through a clenched jaw as Adrus took a thumb-sized cybernetic device and attached it right to his naked bone. "So this is how I'm going to kill you. I'm going to take that knife you're holding and cut your left arm, just between the bicep and forearm. See that purple line?"

Adrus glanced briefly to his arm as he put Xak's leg back together. "Yes. That would be the radial artery."

"That's right. I'm going to give that one quick slice and walk out of the room. After I leave, you'll be losing gallons of blood a minute. You'll have less than two minutes before you pass out, and by the time anybody finds you, you'll be completely dry."

"Impressive. I wasn't aware you needed an understanding of the humanoid circulatory system to become a bartender these days."

"You don't. Do you want to know why I learned that?"

This piqued the doctor's attention. He calmly put his scalpel aside and leaned closer to his patient for curiosity's sake. Xak's eyes bore into his, letting the gravity of the answer weigh in before he gave it.

"Because I've done it before."

Adrus gave him a brief smile. Then he got to work on the other leg.

* * *

When Xak woke up in the orbital room the next morning, something felt disjointed, like the world tilted ever so slightly in the wrong direction. He had grown used to his captor's obsession with regulating every bodily function he was still capable of. Sleep and sunrise always came from a syringe.

This day, he awoke all on his own.

The chaotic rumble of footsteps and urgent chatter brought Xak to light this time. His eyes creaked open to the fully-lit orbital room teeming with nurses and armed guards, most darting in and out of the front door like sparrows in a birdhouse. He couldn't make out words, but the feeling of heated uncertainty in each voice was clear. This was not standard procedure.

Eight of the beds surrounding Xak already vanished, leaving a void of panic for each empty space he counted. They came for the bed to his left, carting the prisoner out the door as doctors barked hasted instructions. Moments passed, and they came for the bed to his right. The orbital room revolved around Xak now, making him the last of the litter. Why this scared him, he couldn't say.

Then they came for him. A nurse seized the cart of Xak's bed and wheeled him past the ominous front door and, at last, out of the orbital room. A strange new light stung his weary eyes. This was the first time Xak had seen any part of the facility outside of his three routine rooms. He frantically scanned everything within his sight for any hint at the overall layout of the place. The hallway was rounded and curved at random, snaking left and right until reaching a set of heavy metal doors that slid apart on their own, leading to a small pod-shaped room that barely fit his bed and its driver. With the press of a glowing button, the doors behind them slid to a close, and Xak felt the ground beneath him rise, churning a sinking feeling into his chest.

"We don't have much time."

The nurse threw off her mask and attacked the bed's restraints with feline claws. Xak had never been so glad to see a Khajiit in his life. As soon as he felt the straps fall he shot up from the gurney. The nurse instantly ushered him back down with one stern paw to his chest.

"Don't get up! This room is called an elevator. It's taking you to the top floor, and I'm already late passing you off." Her voice was sharp yet sweet, save the nervous tremble shaking her words. "They're moving quicker than we expected. In less than an hour they'll fly you to the conscription facility. If that aerocraft takes off with you onboard, there's nothing we can do."

Xak only understood about a quarter of what she just said, but the urgency in her manner told him now was not the time to ask questions. He simply watched as the girl sat next to him on the gurney, carefully re-tying the straps to cover up the loose buckles. "We only have one shot at this. I'm loosening the belts, but whatever you do, _do not_ break out of them until the right moment. Wait for the signal and then make a run for it. Your best chance is down through the flight terminal. If you can make it to the streets, they won't follow you."

From a breast pocket the Khajiit revealed a tiny oval device, barely larger than a Colovian beetle. She sneaked the small pod right into the hole of Xak's left ear, which was about as comfortable as letting a spider crawl into his brain. "This is called a communicator. You'll be able to hear a friend of mine talking to you from far away. Listen to him very closely and do whatever he says."

Xak's tongue was jammed with all that he could say – should say – to the first person to show any shred of kindness to him all week. Who are you? How can I trust you? Where am I? Where should I go? Why am I even here? Yet he couldn't force out more than one word of any option. She answered his stuttering with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're going to make it out of here. Just wait for the signal and listen to Sigurd." Their time was drawing to a close. She took her dutiful place behind Xak's gurney and resumed her disguise.

Then she said with a wink "By the way, the name's Ka'ilah."

The room halted with a clang and an electronic bell. Twin doors slid open to reveal another long hallway with three armed troopers to accept him. "We'll take it from here, ma'am." the closest trooper said as they informally brushed the Khajiit aside to seize Xak's gurney. As they carried him down the narrow pearl hall, Xak turned his head as far as he could to see the nurse give him a wave goodbye before vanishing behind the sliding doors. He was, once again, on his own.

"At least this is the last one." the soldier in charge of pushing Xak celebrated. "Any idea what in Voyager's name the big hurry is?"

"Word is we have a terrorist working in the processing division." Answered the trooper two steps behind. "The Magister isn't taking any chances on losing recruits. Not after the action in Wayrest."

"If you ask me, it's bigger than that. This city always had terrorists, and they knew the Dragonborn would come out to play eventually. I wager this is really about the Third Nu-"

**BLAM**

Xak's world exploded. A great wind blew him off the gurney into a wild flip down the hall. He landed face-down with the makeshift shield at his back. His ears rung like the stinging cry of a chaurus and bitter smoke choked his nostrils. Shaking himself back to reality, he wrestled free of the weakened restraints and wearily crawled to a stand.

A trio of broken corpses in burnt armor lay behind him. Flames marked a hole in the wall revealing the source of the blast. Xak's gurney absorbed the worst of it, leaving him the only man alive within sight.

Safe to say, this was the signal.

"He... Hello? Can you hear me?" The light-toned voice of a man just as nervous as he erupted right in Xak's head. He thought madness had finally kicked in, until his fingers touched upon the communicator lodged in his ear. "I know I'm speaking to the prisoner who just escaped that explosion." No question about it, this voice was the friend the Khajiit mentioned. "Listen, I'd love to tell you all about why you're in this mess, but we're both short on time. My name is Sigurd, and I need you to understand two things. I'm on your side, and you need to get the hell out of there!"

"You're on the top floor of the flight terminal, forty stories up from street level. The building is crawling with Telvanni, so you must do exactly as I say." Sigurd was giving orders at rapid-fire, keeping Xak from muttering a single reply. "When I say go, I want you to jump into that hole the blast created. Don't think, just do it."

Xak was, with the assumption Sigurd could actually hear him, about to tell him to go hell when the door at the end of the hall gave way. He didn't need to turn around to know what was coming.

"Go!"`

He took off like a rampaging kagouti toward the breach. Jumping through the scorched hole brought him to a rough landing in what looked like a kitchen, or what was left of one. The stomps of soldiers running down the hall above followed him. "Out the door, quick! Whatever you do, keep moving!"

He kicked his way into a large round dining room, seemingly abandoned in a hurry. "Straight ahead, the double-doors!" He charged forth, jumping over wooden tables and half-eaten sweetrolls to get to the door just as a trio of soldiers landed behind him.

"Head right, down this hall!" Sigurd ordered and Xak obeyed. "Now left!" The halls and doorways were a blur to Xak as he did all he could to put as much distance between him and the pursuing soldiers.

Xak was now running directly towards a door surrounded in red lights. A striped metal bar ran where a door handle should be. "Damn! They've blocked the maintenance exit!" cursed Sigurd. "Okay, let's try the backup route. Take the right just before the exit. We need to get those troopers off you!" Xak rounded the corner, narrowly missing two pulse shots from the trailing soldiers. "You're coming up to the public area of the terminal. No matter what you see, don't get distracted!"

A dire warning this was. Xak crossed the threshold of the last double doors into a world like which he could never have imagined. A vast, vacuous globe of a building sprawled before him, webbed with serpentine walkways and disc-like platforms. Metal airships descended and rose between wide catwalks crowded with men and women of all species clothed in fabrics that puzzled the mind. The terminal was like a living, breathing creature that pulsed people through its sprawling veins.

His eyes swallowed the sight with an appetite of wonder. They were still hungry when Sigurd blasted over the mic "Run, moron!"

He charged down the nearest walkway, trying not to think of the massive drop beneath. The crowd in his path quickly dispersed to allow the crazed Breton room. To the soldiers that followed him, they ducked in fear.

"Make your way to the executive level! That's the red section of wall to your right!" barked Sigurd. Xak spotted the wall slightly above him at 2 o'clock. Getting there would be another story.

He saw troopers pouring down the walkway to his left. More came straight ahead. The stomping boots behind him were closing in. There was no safe passage. They had him pinned.

"Time to get creative. To your right!" This time Xak and Sigurd were on the same level. He came to a halt at the intersection, letting the troopers from all sides close in. A soldier behind him reached to seize his arm.

That's when he jumped.

Xak dropped off the walkway and landed on an ascending airship, hitting the glass of the cockpit. A startled Argonian pilot swore heavily at him as he scrambled off the cracked glass and along the body of the rising ship. He leaped off the tail end to just manage grabbing the ledge of the opposite catwalk, one that led straight to the executive floors. His pursuers gathered puzzled and confused on the intersection beneath him. Xak knew he gained some time as he rushed down the clear path toward the red double doors.

He was back in the enclosed hallways now, these ones adorned with potted plants and cheesy paintings. "Great work! Just head straight ahead to the elevator down the hall." Xak saw the silence as a chance to catch his breath as he took a brisk walk to the metal doors.

Then the doors slid open. Out came a menacing machine of two mighty legs, a raven-like head of golden glass and long dark cannons in place of arms.

"LEFT! GO LEFT!" Shrieked Sigurd as Xak tumbled through the nearest door. Something burning hot clipped his heel as the hallway was filled with a barrage of laser fire. Xak found himself tumbling up stairs, throwing over benches and plants, blocking an exit, anything he could do to keep that mechanical beast from chasing him. Salty sweat dripped onto his tongue as he felt his limit approaching.

"What in Oblivion was that thing?" He wearily consulted the voice in his head.

"It wasn't supposed to be there. The Telvanni are one step ahead. They must have picked up on the frequency. That means... Damn it!" Xak could hear a table being slammed, papers shuffling, the eruption of more voices behind an electronic fuzz. "You've got one more exit, and they're going to know where you're headed. Find the office of Nelso Drenim. It's just one floor above you."

With a bit of wandering, Xak came to recognize the various plaques and arrows that made up the building's directory. He followed the name Drenim down a short hall and up a winding staircase. His legs were begging for a rest at this point, but Xak told himself that every step was taking him further away from the mirrored room and that damned butcher Adrus. The thought of never seeing either again pushed him up a flight of stairs in seconds.

Around a corner, he faced an impressive red-oak door with the name "Drenim" carved in gold lettering. It gave way to a grand room of marble and glass, thankfully with no Mr. Drenim in sight. A long blue carpet trailed to a desk cluttered with papers and spell scrolls and beyond that, to Xak's relief, was a window to the outside. The glass portal gave little insight to his situation however. It had been tinted a severe black and only the twinkling lights of other towering structures beyond penetrated the veil.

Regaining his purpose, Xak studied the room for any hint of the exit Sigurd mentioned. "I think this is the office. Now what?"

"There's a red button beneath Drenim's desk. Find it and hit it, quick!" Xak's fingers fumbled underneath the frame until they hit a soft switch, which caused a solid steel plate to slam down over the office door. A clever security measure, Xak admired, and realized how badly the Stunted Scamp could use one of those.

"Now see that big window behind the desk? Grab a chair or something and break it."

A light wooden bench next to the bookcase seemed like the right tool. Xak hoisted it up and slammed the bench against the window like a battering ram. After five strikes the bench broke in half on the impact, but not without leaving the glass with a web of cracks to show for it. Xak didn't have time to admire the new view before he heard a furious grinding behind him. Sparks erupted the edges of the office door. Somebody was sawing their way in. "Help me out here, Sigurd!"

"Jump!"

He shot one look out the crumbling window and it was all he needed. "Are you out of your mind!?" Xak swore he would have punched Sigurd if only he were in the room.

"Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but gravity here doesn't work the way you're used to."

"I still don't know where _here_ is!" Xak turned to yelling. The burning line around the door reached midway. The window was no more appealing.

"There's a large fountain on the street level below that office. It's deep enough to land in and the gravity will soften your fall. Xak, this is the last option you have! You don't want to know what they'll put you through if they catch you again. Take the dive, for Talos' sake!"

Down came the door.

He thought about how much it would hurt to fall from the top of the tallest tower he had ever seen and have the ground meet his skull with the force of a hundred warhammers.

Then he thought of spending the rest of his life being carted around in a strapped gurney, drugged and restrained from one room to the next, his only friends being the warped reflections of himself stretched into eternity along the walls of a mirrored cell.

Then he made peace with his gods.

Through the glass he jumped. It shattered against his shoulder, welcoming him to the sea of windless air beyond. For a moment he sailed, in a way that he could count each shard of the window that joined him in his flight. It was then that he finally saw it.

Above him was a great blue orb blanketing most of the starry void beyond. Milky-white wisps of storms streaked across verdant green lands, craggy tan deserts and the shimmering oceans. On its face, Xak could make out familiar shapes from maps and his schooling. The ashen island of Vvardenfell. The great cape of High Rock. The bullseye river of the Imperial City. At it's edges, even the ominous coasts of Akavir and Atmora were clear as Magnus's great light upon them.

He no longer thought of falling. Even as the red horizon and spiral tips of the towers around him crept into vision, Xak could not take his gaze off the distant planet. He could see it! From countless miles above, the very spot he stood days ago along the edge of High Rock and the Wrothgarian Mountains before he was taken here.

And it finally dawned on him just where he had gone.

_By the gods... This is Masser!_

Xak plunged into the pool beneath. He let the black water take him until the sight of his home – his planet – twisted and blurred into nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

_[Ready for a metric ton of Elder Scrolls alumni characters? I've learned something about my writing habits recently. The more characters present in a scene, the easier time I have writing it. That means this chapter has been a blast to write! So many new and familiar characters are introduced, and the clashing personalities finally put the conflict in frame. Elder Scrolls fans are finally going to see some fond faces here!_

_If I had been naming each chapter, I would have called this one "Answers".]_

**Chapter 4**

All was dark. Murky water stung his eyes. He didn't want to open them again. All that he had seen, had endured, and now the overwhelming weight of a new truth. Masser. The great moon. The sacred dead body of an ancient god had been his prison all along. It was too much to accept. The fountain's distorted silence was better than the screaming reality waiting for him above.

Then a voice broke the veil. It was calling for him from deep within his own memories. Nevertheless, he could hear it echo "Xak! Xak!"

And to this he whispered "Rhone."

* * *

He shot awake, arms and legs kicking to reach the surface. He felt nothing. It quickly dawned that he was not in fact drowning in a fountain. Somebody had buckled him into a leather seat, but this time he didn't feel restrained. To his front and right were wide glass panes through which he could see the outside world passing by fast, faster than his eyes could comprehend and the best he could do was follow the mesmerizing dance of red and blue lights swirling past.

"Xak!" A voice just to his left broke the daze. "Thank Nocturnal you're awake. You had me worried we'd gone through all this trouble for nothing."

Next to him sat a woman, a Dunmer with a sharp face and strained brow. Strands of damp, shoulder-length dark hair hung over her brilliant violet eyes like fangs. He could see fresh drops of fountain water fall from her chin onto her bosom, laid mostly bare with a black cloth tank-top.

"You..." He paused to cough, finding his voice hoarse. "saved me?"

The Dunmer shot Xak one brief look, as though refusing to admit it. "You've been in shock. That's no surprise, I'm afraid. Nirnwalkers aren't meant to see the city so suddenly." She kept her attention out the window ahead, gripping a small wheel-like control in both hands. "Try to stay calm. It helps to think of life back on Nirn. Trying to understand any of this so soon will overwhelm you again."

"Is this room moving? Who are you?"

She smirked. "So much for patience. This 'room' is called a car. I'm driving it. Think of it as a horse carriage with no horse, and much, much faster." Her voice was soothing yet tinged with an icy chill and a sharp accent he could not place. Still it was the best sound to touch his ears in a long time. "And my name is Karliah. You are Xak Theril. And for the time being, we are friends."

Xak echoed the word "car" beneath his breath. A new word for a new world. He still didn't know how an entire city got on Masser or why he was taken there or why he was tortured or why anybody wanted to rescue him or what exactly was done to him during all of Dr. Adrus's experiments or how Karliah knew his name. But at least he knew what a car is.

Then memory struck him. "Wait, Karliah... I know that name. You used to work with my uncle Brynjolf."

He saw her crack a mischievous grin. "I told you it helps to keep your mind on the familiar. Your uncle and I used to lead the Thieves Guild in Skyrim. Had to deal with some... baggage, but we turned the whole operation around."

Xak's eyes ran up and down her figure and he didn't care whether she saw him do it. The stories his uncle told him as a boy made her into a fairy tale, a shadow goddess who could swipe a coin through a keyhole and charm a prior into lust. Now here was the great Karliah in the flesh. The smooth, slender midnight-colored flesh. "Brynjolf said you were dead."

"And he should know better than to count me out twice." The sharpness in her tone could have cut glass. "Hopefully he has better faith in you. Could be a while before he sees you again."

"What's that supposed to mean.?"

"I'm one of the best damn thieves to ever live and I'm not afraid to say it. I've got royal blood in my veins and the favor of the Night Mistress on my side," She took her eyes off the road to bear into his. "And I've been stuck here nine years."

Nine years? That's when Brynjolf said she had been killed, Xak recalled. How could somebody stay sane being trapped in this cruel and bizarre world for nearly a decade? For that matter, could he? "Can I at least know what the hell is going on? Is this some sort of Telvanni stronghold? What could they possibly want with me? And for that matter, what do you want with me?"

"Xak, stay with me!" Karliah rested a hand on his trembling shoulder. "I know this isn't easy, trust me. I promise we're going to explain everything for you. You just need to take this one step at a time."

"Fine, let's start with this: Where are you taking me?"

"Fair enough. I'm taking you to the store."

"A store." Xak sighed sarcastically. "A store that sells what?"

She shrugged. "Trinkets, odds and ends. That sort of thing."

This is when Xak felt the room – the car – finally begin to slow down. Karliah reached for a panel of blue lights and knobs between them. Turning a dial filled the car with a strange ambiance, a sequence of soft drums, piano keys and electric beeps laid beneath a woman speaking in a gentle rhythm. The more Xak listened, the more he could see candlelight, the flow of seas at night, alluring blue eyes, a pair of hands drifting behind his shoulders and the touch of familiar lips on his. The intoxicating sound sank him into a sea of sweet memories, and Xak knew it was music.

* * *

He felt his whole world shift as the car came to a stop. Karliah shut the machine down with a turn of a key."This is our headquarters. We can get you some rest, some food, and most of all some answers. I'm sure you're equally starved.". She exited the door on her side and, after watching Xak fumble trying to figure out how a car door works, opened his.

Xak emerged into a place a far cry from the brilliant Telvanni tower he escaped from. The black-paved road was narrow and silent save for the distant groans and screeches of cars in the distance. The faces of flickering neon signs echoed in forgotten puddles along the street. In a way, it felt like being back in Bravil.

Karliah made her way up a set of steps towards a small gray two-story shop. The red sign above blared "Belethor's", with the _l_ and _t_ noticeably dark. Xak probably could have cracked a joke about bee whores if his spirits were lighter. Instead, he paused at the sidewalk, waiting for Karliah to notice he wasn't following any further. She turned to him from the shop's door.

"What's wrong, Xak?"

He shuffled uneasily, glancing left and right down the alien roads. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"I saved your life. I treated your wounds. I know your uncle. And you still don't trust me?" she said with both hands to her hips and disbelief in her face. "So you're not as stupid as you look."

Her heels clacked powerfully with each step until she was a mere breath away from him. Wisps of her perfume filled his senses as she drew close, closer than he'd let a woman be in a long time. As he gazed into the purple nebula of her eyes, he felt her press something solid and cold under his chin, round and hollow like a bottle of wine. Then she pressed harder, and he knew it was not.

"Let me introduce you to my other favorite three-letter word. This is called a _gun_. I don't care how good you think you are, if I pull this trigger you _will _be dead before you can blink. I could kill you right now, or I could have killed you at any moment on the way here. I could have just let you drown in that puddle I pulled you out of. So as long as you're alive, you know I have no intention to hurt you. Better damn well hope it stays that way, understood?"

Xak breathed down the cold metal barrel. Then he nodded.

"Good. Now let's get you inside."

_[Still more to come on this chapter later...]_


End file.
